


All He Remembers

by Mint_and_Cinnamon



Category: Labyrinth (1986)
Genre: F/M, Grief/Loss, Jareth Origin Story, Lost Love, Madness, Memories, You know that one fan theory that there have been millions of Sarahs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-09
Updated: 2015-06-09
Packaged: 2018-04-03 16:46:27
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,588
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4107925
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mint_and_Cinnamon/pseuds/Mint_and_Cinnamon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Before Jareth became the Goblin King, he was simply a man in love. He walked into another world and built a home fit for a queen, but when he came back for her, she was gone. So he sits, and he waits, and he remembers.</p>
<p>Inspired by Glamdamnit's fan theory that there have been many Sarahs who have tried to get their siblings back from the Goblin King.</p>
            </blockquote>





	All He Remembers

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys! I found a fan theory about Labyrinth and now there is fanfic everywhere. Enjoy!

All he remembers is her hair.

It was always so thick and dark, curtains of it falling over her face whenever she leaned forward. It always smelled like something comforting – although what it was, he could never remember – and it was always so warm. When he had run his fingers through it, all those years ago, it had felt like hot silk.

That was all he remembered.

He had promised her so much, and loved her for so long, and all he could remember was her hair.

* * *

 

 

Her parents had never liked him.

When he was still a mortal man, he had been rich enough to send himself away to palaces and seminaries, temples and tombs. He had learned much from holy places and clever men, enough to lift the veil between the world of men and whatever lay beneath it. When he returned to their little village, he went straight to their hut and told them he would marry her.

They refused.

They had their reasons. Her father had married again, and his new wife had a small army of squalling brats pawing at her skirts; they needed her, they said, to help around the house until the oldest girl could hold a broom. He offered them jewels – conjuring them right out of the air – but still they refused. The nearest slave market was two weeks away, and with a litter of children to care for, two weeks could make all the difference. He vanished the jewels on the spot and they had looked at each other with grimaces on their faces.

He could not remember the look on her face as she watched him plead for her. She had turned away, stooping over the smoking pot, her long, dark hair covering her face.

That was when he had gone to the sidhe.

* * *

 

 

The sidhe stood motionless in the moonlight. Once, he would have thought it silent, but now he could feel its power. It thrummed in the air, vibrating like a harp-string, energy crackling right down to the tips of his pale hair. Some creature screeched overhead, and his woollen cloak did little to keep out the chill.

He had been afraid, in that moment. But then he thought of her.

He held up his hand and spoke the words, and the sidhe opened for him.

When he stepped inside, his last thought was of her.

* * *

 

 

Men had called his realm ‘the Otherworld’, where he had come from. If he had been a braver man – if he had been less in love – he would have set out across its strange, dry plains and explored it. There were mountains in the distance he had never been to, and no matter how far he walked, they never grew any closer. There were lakes and rivers too, and as he passed them he could hear music in their waters.

But he had no time to explore. This was where he would create his palace, and there was much to do before he could show it to his princess, his queen. She would like the rivers of music, and the ever-distant mountains: all he had to do was build a home worthy of her and she would be content to stay here for the rest of her days.

He set to work. He was never sure how long it had taken, but soon he had built her a castle from stone that glistened every colour imaginable – and some colours that he had never seen before. There were balconies wide enough to dance across, silk curtains at every window, and thousands upon thousands of rooms for all their children.

There would be many of them, he was sure of it.

* * *

 

 

And then, he had returned.

When he stepped out of the sidhe the hut’s roof had crumbled, sagging under its own weight. The mud on the walls had flaked away, exposing the frame of sticks that held it upright, which were black with mould and water.

He had never known true fear until that moment.

When he saw her, in that moment he knew true grief.

* * *

 

 

For a time, loneliness was all he knew.

He wandered his empty halls, tearing at his hair and clawing at his face. He howled until his voice grew hoarse, tears streaming down his face. He covered his body in a myriad of cuts until they lay across him like a spider’s web. Once, he had climbed to the highest room in the tallest tower – it had taken him days – and thrown himself from the window.

It made no difference.

He had floated down from the window as if he weighed no more than a feather. His cuts healed, his hair grew back, the pain ebbed away like water. The world he had built – the _home_ he had built – was laughing at him, and would never let him leave.

Some days, he would sit in the middle of one of his grand rooms and weep like a child.

Other days, he would laugh, and the sound would echo back to him.

* * *

 

 

It was another girl who called him back.

He heard her voice ringing around his empty castle, and when he waved his hand her image appeared in the air.

The first thing he noticed about her was her hair.

It was long, and dark, and he could see the weight of it as it moved, and pain and grief and hope swirled together in his head. She stood in another hut, screaming at a woman who did not look like her and pointing at a child.

It was all he needed.

He extended one long finger and reached out to her, granting her wish.

The child disappeared, and moments later he heard screaming in one of the castle’s empty rooms.

* * *

 

 

She had come for it, as he knew she would.

Her eyes were not the eyes he remembered. They were darker, the wrong shape, and filled with fear. She had begged, she had pleaded, and she had not recognised him. He had tried to show her the home he had built for them, tried to give her the gifts he had made, but in the end, she had just grabbed the child and ran.

He had tried to stop her, but he did not want to harm her. There was a wild look in her eyes that told him she did not share his concerns, and soon she slipped through the gateway, her dark hair flying behind her.

This time, he did not weep.

He would find her again, and next time, he would make sure she could not get away so easily.

* * *

 

 

Over the years his castle grew, and the colours faded.

The children he had known he would have did not take well to the Otherworld. It changed them in ways he could not explain, and while he was able to train them as guards, servants and the like, it did not always go well.

Of course, the children were not his.

They were hers – the many unloved siblings of his dark-haired beauty. That was why his castle kept on growing. She was a clever little thing, and he had to keep adding new things to his palace to keep her guessing. If he could not keep her amused, she would walk right out again with the child clutched to her chest.

She would always come, sooner or later, although something would always be different about her. Her eyes would be the wrong colour, she would be fractionally too tall, her curves would not be quite so full as he remembered. She would always come looking for the child he took from her, wearing a slightly different face each time.

It disturbed him at first, but eventually, he grew to like it. Each time he saw her there would be something different about her, some fresh secret to discover, some new mannerism she had picked up. It was like falling in love with her all over again.

Sometimes, she would win, and take the child back. Sometimes, she would not, and he would always wonder what had happened to her.

* * *

 

 

The latest one had left him reeling.

In time, he had grown strong enough to leave the Otherworld, but he no longer recognised the world of mortal men. Their houses were steel and glass contraptions, and they could fly around the Earth at a moment’s notice. They did not call on him quite so often, but sometimes, he was lucky.

He had been lucky when he met her.

He had tried so hard to keep her with him, this time. He had offered her everything he could. He had spun a web of illusions around her that was more delicate than a spider’s web and gave her darkest dreams life. Still, she had smashed her way through his gift and fought her way to the gates of his castle. He had begged with her, pleaded, but in the end, it had done nothing.

She had taken back the child and left, leaving nothing but a strange, cool scent in the air.

He had watched her return to the mortal world, put the child to bed and return to her room, exhausted. When she had sat down in front of her mirror, he had watched her from behind her own reflection as she brushed out her long, dark hair.

He smiled at that, although it brought a lump to his throat.

He had always loved Sarah’s hair.

She wore it just as he remembered.


End file.
